Masquerade

by Emma East

  And though Elizabeth Bennet herself possessed many… many fine qualities, the Bennets lacked both common sense and manners.

  “But,” Darcy said, interrupting Miss Bingley, “perhaps there is something to be gained from Miss Elizabeth’s presence.”

  The corners of Miss Bingley’s eyes stretched wide, her dismay not easily concealed. “Oh… yes?”

  “Yes. Her elegance in the form of dancing is unparalleled.”

  Miss Bingley’s lips parted in her surprise and then she rallied valiantly. “I see.”

  Darcy hid his smile with his glass of champagne and began to move away. “Miss Bingley.”

  “Mr. Darcy,” she said stiffly.

  Darcy walked with studied aimlessness, drifting just on the edge of Elizabeth’s sight as she flitted from conversation to conversation. Her charming and outgoing nature was wasted on the company in the room, but Darcy enjoyed it anyway. There was something satisfying in listening to a woman outwit her conversational partners with ease.

  A pity she and her eldest sister are attached to such a family.

  Sir William was a man with a neck as thick as his pompousness. He jovially greeted Darcy with a such somber, prideful tones he could have been greeting the King himself.

  “There was a curious lack of dancing before the young ones rounded up a party,” he told Darcy. “Oh, to be young again. Do you enjoy dancing, Mr. Darcy?”

  He did not care for the practice very much, but just then his gaze caught upon Elizabeth Bennet as she crossed near to their spot. “It is a diversion, though I do not find myself a proficient by any means.”

  “What modesty,” Sir William cried in surprise, “I have never seen a man as capable upon his feet as you. You must grace Lucas Lodge with a dance, Mr. Darcy! And, here is Miss Bennet!”

  Elizabeth, passing so close nearby, could not pretend to not notice Sir William’s booming voice. She paused, looking rather like a squirrel seeing the bloodhound ahead of it, and then hesitantly approached, her face a mask of politeness.

  “Sir William, Mr. Darcy.”

  “You may wonder why I called out to you, Miss Elizabeth,” Sir William said with a teasing wag of his finger. “But you must have known I would speak to Mr. Darcy of dancing and how bereft we would all be if he did not grace the Lodge by at least one dance. You must oblige me, an old man, by humoring me with a dance.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes rose with surprise and dismay. “I assure you I did not come this way intending to beg for a dance.”

  Darcy was surprised at this harsh censure of himself. But perhaps she believed Darcy only humored Sir William. He would not be thrilled to believe she danced with him out of duty rather than desire, if the positions were reversed. He enlightened her.

  “Then perhaps I hoped you would, Miss Elizabeth.”

  “Oh-ho! Now that has surprised you, my dear. But you could not possibly deny Mr. Darcy after his witty rejoinder!”

  It was daring for Darcy to say such a thing and could lead to many rumors coming from Sir William’s boisterous, loose lips. But Darcy dared to say it, regardless. There was a gleam in Elizabeth’s eye he wished to understand and a tilt to her chin that called to him as one proud creature to another. He had thought about her for far too long. He wished to take action now.

  Elizabeth closed her mouth, looking away from Darcy. “Of course,” she murmured. She cleared her throat and her voice when she spoke next was stronger. “It would be remiss of me not to reward such a response to my impertinence.”

  Darcy led her to the makeshift dance floor, catching sight of Caroline Bingley’s mottled expression from the corner of his eye. He would need to dance with her next, if only to avoid her insufferable jealousy for the rest of the day.

  “We should not be seen so often in company together.”

  Her voice was low and Darcy nearly missed the comment, his head turned to ensure the young boy dancing with Lydia Bennet did not step on Elizabeth’s slipper with his exuberant dancing.

  He jerked his head toward her. “Why is that?”

  She did not respond for several moments by necessity of the dance. When she could, she said, “It is drawing attention. My mother, for instance, though I have so far drawn her attention away by pointing out the fact that you have so far shown the same amount of preference to Miss Bingley.”

  A turn and Darcy could verify Elizabeth’s assertions for himself. Though her mouth was running to any who stood near, Mrs. Bennet’s sharp gaze was upon her second-eldest daughter and did not appear unpleased by the sight before her.

  He sighed.

  “My sentiments exactly,” she said. “That is why I was so forceful in my refusal.”

  “My failure to heed your silent warning is my fault,” he said. “But I still cannot regret it. I wished to ask you a question and wanted what relative privacy we could receive.”

  A pause, Darcy waiting until the other dancers were laughing wildly about them. They got close, hands touching, his head bent toward hers, and then retreated. Her cheeks were pigmented with her blush when they met a second time.

  Bent toward her, he murmured, “Will you be able to meet tomorrow afternoon? On the path north of the woods behind Longbourn?”

  She retreated. Darcy waited with bated breath, paying little mind to his steps as he watched her weave between her sisters and finally come back to him. He wanted to meet her again. He needed to, in order to escape the torment her mystery provided him. She was an answer to a question he did not yet know. If he could just decipher her, she would disappear from his thoughts.

  Then he could focus on important matters.

  “I do not… What of my family? I could not tell them—”

  “You will go for a walk in the wood, that is all,” Darcy said. “And you may happen to pass a carriage that contains a gentleman you know in passing only.”

  She did not respond, and the dance came to an abrupt end with Mary Bennet being pulled away from the piano by another young lady, tired of being unable to show off her skills to the group. In the echoes of the loud complaining, beseeching to Mrs. Bennet and Sir William and Lady Lucas, and disappointed groans from the youngest Bennet sisters and the youngest Lucas girl, Elizabeth Bennet whispered, “Close to noon.”

  Then she curtsied and breezed past him. All she left behind was a hint of lavender in the air. He refused to smile. With perfect solemnity, he approached Miss Bingley and asked her to join him in the next dance.

  Chapter Nine

  Elizabeth dreaded each step she took toward where she expected to find Mr. Darcy. She knew he would be waiting. She could be certain that his expressive gaze would capture her as it had since the evening they met at a mysterious masquerade on High-Church Street.

  At first, his continued attention once he learned her identity confused her. She wondered if he pursued her only because of what they had shared. Without asking, she would never know—and she refused to start that conversation. Not when she found herself vulnerable to his attention. Her heart beat twice as fast whenever she looked across a crowded room and found his gaze upon her. The sound of his deep voice among a crowd could break her attention despite how hard she focused to block him out.

  After her first two encounters with Mr. Darcy, began anticipating hearing his voice or seeing his tall, proud figure among the other guests in the salons when he attended the same parties as her family. She constantly thought of what she would say to him next, or imagining what he would say to her next. These daydreams frequently included him pulling her into an unattended, unoccupied room and pressing her into a convenient sofa.

  If only her mother had not involved herself or noticed anything, Elizabeth would anticipate her meeting with Mr. Darcy with glee instead of dread. For Mrs. Bennet had noticed the attentions that Mr. Darcy had directed toward her second eldest daughter and, though she disliked Elizabeth and did not understand why a man of worth should see something in her rather than in her oldest or youngest daughters, Mrs. Bennet understood a boon w
hen it landed in her lap. And to her, Mr. Darcy was nothing except a treasure to snatch and snared.

  It had begun with simple inquiries and suggestions. If you would but wear this little trinket, I am sure someone will notice it. Pinch your cheeks a little, dear. Your complexion must be healthy and pleasant. Hmm… that ribbon does nothing for your eyes, Lizzy. Lydia, bring me your new silver one for Lizzy’s green dress.

  Then it had grown worse: Lizzy, you must smile more tonight. You look dreadfully dull when you only speak to Charlotte Lucas all evening. What is she to us? You must make yourself available for Mr. Darcy! Mr. Bennet, you must tell your daughter she isn’t to stick to her friend’s side all night and make her disagreeable to Mr. Darcy! Sir William said you would deny Mr. Darcy a dance, Lizzy! What cruel daughter would do such a thing when her family relies on her to make a prudent match—and Mr. Darcy is more than prudent! Ten thousand pounds per year, Lizzy!

  But Elizabeth’s interests were more shallow than his income and her comfort. She only wished that her mother would not intrude her desires into Elizabeth’s intentions. For Elizabeth’s intentions were wholly unsuitable for polite society. What her mother would think of that, Elizabeth refused to ponder.

  Up ahead, through the trees, she glimpsed a black carriage waiting on the path through the woods. Nervously, she touched her cheeks and found them warm even through her gloves.

  She noticed upon her approach that there was no driver. A quick glance told her that no one lingered nearby. Had Mr. Darcy driven himself? As she walked closer and there was no sign of any movement, more questions surfaced. Was this even his carriage? What if someone had abandoned the carriage after one of the two attached stallions threw a shoe?

  But no. The door of the coach opened as she approached, and she saw Mr. Darcy descend. Her stomach lurched at the sight of him. Was she really doing this? Could this be reality or just her imagination?

  “I drove,” Mr. Darcy explained as she stopped in front of him. His gaze brimmed with desire, an emotion that nearly tugged her closer just by sight alone. But he did not reach for her and she stood still. “I wished to be as circumspect as possible.”

  “That was likely wise.”

  Though a certain part of Elizabeth had hoped to hide behind a third person’s presence, so he would not tempt her to wrap herself around him and thus she could return home with less guilt staining her soul. But they stood together, alone, in the wood, and Elizabeth’s lip was already sore from biting it too hard.

  Mr. Darcy’s eyes darkened as he took her hand. “I thought so,” he murmured, and she took a moment to remember what they had been speaking of only seconds before. “A ride, my lady?”

  Blushing, she allowed him to put her into the coach. The coach boasted the Darcy family crest on the door. What would his family think of Elizabeth stepping into his coach with sin on her mind? She decided not to ask.

  The door closed behind Mr. Darcy with a snap. The sunlight was shut out, denied entrance.

  He did not waste time with pretenses or pleasantries. She was afraid he would, afraid that she would lose what little nerve she had scraped together since their meeting at Lucas Lodge. But Mr. Darcy sat beside her and immediately took her hands between his. Within moments, he dropped her gloves to the seat opposite them.

  “I have been waiting for this moment.”

  With that, he brought her hand to his lips.

  There was no mutual decision to move together, no compromise or words spoken, only a beating urgency in her chest that controlled her like a puppet master. She met him in the middle and his arms were ready to accept her and drag her close. His lips were just as she remembered, and she melted into him. There was no give and take, no pleasing back and forth. He took, devouring, and her back hit the side of the coach as he consumed her.

  “Yes, this,” he murmured. “How long do we have? They will not miss me for some time.”

  “They may miss me sooner rather than later,” she said, eliciting a groan of frustration she felt in her gut.

  “You make a fool of me, Elizabeth.”

  A thrill went through her and, breathlessly, she replied, “I do no such thing.”

  “No,” he murmured, his lips dragging across her neck. “You are right. I make a fool of myself.”

  She could not breathe with his hands taking away her warm shawl, much less fashion a pithy retort. She could only gasp as he delicately slid the tips of his fingers under the collar of her dress and exposed her to the cool air of the coach.

  Then he spoke, his voice a sinuous curl to her senses, and his breath tickled the tops of her breasts. “Have you thought of me in your room at night? How fondly do you remember the evening we shared?”

  Quick fingers tugged down the sleeves of her dress. “I can tell you what I remember,” he continued, sweeping butterfly-gentle kisses across her skin. “I remember the prettiest nipples on this Earth, as sweet and pink as rosebuds, and a blush—yes, like the one you currently wear—that warmed you to the tops of your beautiful breasts. A shy blush, I thought then. But that is not the case, is it, Elizabeth?” His dark eyes gleamed in the shadowed coach and she felt his smile against her skin. “This is a provocative blush, a teasing blush. You know very well how such a thing will make a reasonable, proper gentleman react in response.”

  “Then luckily there are none of those nearby,” she said as his teeth tugged on one previously referred to nipple. “Oh my.”

  “Oh my, indeed,” he murmured with dark humor. “You would wound me. But I see your point.”

  She groaned when he pulled away and she was left in the cold, her chest heaving with a concentrated effort not to cry out at his loss. Mr. Darcy was, impossibly, more smug than ever as he looked at her over the hateful space now between them.

  “Why did you stop?”

  His lips twitched. Elizabeth thought she might amuse him somehow, though she could not guess how.

  “I would not take you here, though our desires might disagree with the notion.”

  Blushing, she accepted the point. Making love in his coach would be an uncomfortable affair. Feeling vulnerable with his gaze resting on her, she crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Is there any private place we might be together?”

  “I can… what are you doing?”

  “I want to see you,” he said, drawing her arms back down to her sides. His eyes were heavy lidded and gleaming with something like mischief. “What were you saying?”

  She swallowed. She did not take comfort in the feeling of being exposed in such a manner in front of him, despite their history. It had not seemed as vulnerable a position in the midst of their lovemaking, but to be undressed during a conversation felt strange and uncomfortable. But she would not persist in disagreeing with him… for the moment, anyway.

  “I thought of one place we might have privacy. A farm on my father’s property. It is vacant, and we expect no occupant for another month, at least.”

  Her last words were muffled when he caught her mouth in an unexpectedly ferocious kiss. His hands came up, one to cradle her breast and one to cup her cheek. Tender and seductive, considerate yet incendiary. He drew away only when she was gasping. “My clever kitten. I’m pleased I am not the only one to have given this some thought.”

  “I may have given it too much thought,” she said, breathless.

  “Do you think your family can spare you for a little longer?”

  She truly did not know how long it had been since she had suddenly felt the need to go on a solitary walk through the wood—at least that was what her sisters believed. Her sisters would eventually worry and go out looking for her. Or worse: call for her father to look for her. But in front of her was Mr. Darcy. She had daydreamed about this moment often enough she could not stomach leaving prematurely.

  “A little longer,” she said against her better judgment.

  She went when he pulled her close and succumbed to the desire to touch him. But there was so much fabric between
them that she ended up struggling with it rather than satisfying her craving.

  “Why must I be denied your bare skin, sir?”

  Mr. Darcy stopped nibbling at her neck and leaned back. A mischievous gleam twinkled in his gaze, like the one in his eye the night of the masquerade. “Let me correct this grievous error.”

  She swallowed when he peeled away his layers and exposed thick, curly hair across his chest. Elizabeth, having never seen so much of a man’s anatomy outside of diagrams in books, struggled to form syllables. The cut of his wardrobe did not deceive the eye: under his clothes was a fine, athletic figure.

  “Satisfied, kitten?”

  She could have purred. “Yes.”

  She took her time exploring his chest. Not all men were like this under their clothes, surely. Elizabeth had known many gentlemen of different physiques and never had she imagined one like Mr. Darcy. His chest hair was coarse and rough, a contrast to the soft skin underneath. She explored with her fingertips, over his chest, down toward his stomach, over his ribs. It was only then he sucked in a gasp and she glanced up to find his gaze full of surprise.

  “Mr. Darcy?”

  “Surely they can spare you a little longer,” he said, his voice a murmur that slid down her spine as slowly as his hands slid down her legs. Her breath hitched as he bent down toward her, and his lips wrapped around her nipple. First one and then the other. She wiggled and squirmed against his ministrations, no thought coherent enough to voice even in her head.